Cross-post with the Ta'Illistim folder.
Recuperation
It is said that the harp has healing qualities, its music generates an atmosphere of peace that sweeps away fear, depression, desperation, and hopelessness. It creates an opening for healing to take place. Whether or not a person recovers from their illness or not is less important than the spiritual healing that so often needs to take place.
Given the circumstances of Rohese’s condition, it was somewhat ironic that she felt drawn to the musical instrument as part of her healing process. Having recently woken from her prolonged state of unconsciousness, she had spent her time simply coming to terms with what had happened to her.
It was a miracle that the exsanguination hadn’t proved fatal. While the physical wounds had quickly healed, with only a faint scar showing where the crossbow bolt had entered her shoulder and the further torturous injuries to her body carefully concealed beneath layers of modest clothing, the mental scars had left her deeply troubled.
The blood loss had been significant and it had taken months of skilled tending in the hands of the Graces to restore her to near-full health but she was still plagued with horrific flashbacks: images of imprisonment met with sumptuous surroundings ... lavish dishes untouched, yet none within reach, and those eyes ... piercing green ... the hungry eyes of her captor.
In an effort to shake off the distress welling up inside her, Rohese sat on the nearby stool. She adjusted the skirts of her gown and tentatively laid her fingers across the harp. Plucking a few strings, she played a simple glissando but, hitting upon a particular chord, she was instantly reminded of that banshee's wail. A sharp pain bit deep into the flesh of her back and a blood red haze fleetingly obscured her vision causing her to hastily rise and step away from the instrument. She clutched desperately at the driftwood locket around her neck and bit down hard on her lip to hold back her tears and screams.
The momentary feeling of dread subsided to be replaced by thoughts of Ta’Illistim’s shimmering blue spires and the faces of her beloved friends. She would need a little more time to recuperate and recover her strength before she could return home though.
OOC: Roh's return is going to include the involvement of a few other wonderful characters so I hope you'll bear with us while it unfolds. Feel free to jump on board and see if you can figure out the mystery behind her disappearance! I can't thank them enough for supporting me in this.
>>You slay me woman! ~ Wyrom
https://gswiki.play.net/Rohese_Bayvel-Timsh'l
CHIVERST
CHIVERST
Re: The Healing Process
02/13/2019 06:46 AM CST
Cross-post with the Ta'Illistim folder.
Recovery
Rohese watched the coral pink of pre-dawn light illuminate the harbor below, staining the white sails of the ships moored at the dockside. A recent squall had brought them within the sanctuary of its walls for a few days but she could see that most of them were making ready to set sail again.
She usually rose early to benefit from the tranquility of the abbey cloisters. The morning prayer bell would soon toll and the hallowed halls would be filled with the hustle and bustle of daily ecclesiastical life. For now, though, she had retreated to the solitude of her chambers and the book she intended to finish that day. She stood at the window, enthralled by the tattered, blue-grey clouds scudding before the wind across the blushing sky and let her thoughts drift over the last few months.
Why have you forsaken me, Lumnis? Suddenly appalled by her own blasphemous judgement, Rohese stepped out onto the balcony and inhaled the crisp, clean air. A salt-laden breeze whipped at her hair and for a moment, the banshee’s wail resonated in her ears again. It’s just the wind. Closing her eyes, she tried to concentrate on the here-and-now and not let her grief and pain become too overwhelming.
Her walk along the beach that morning had yielded a nautilus shell, which she now gripped tightly in her hand. She murmured a brief prayer for the safety of the sailors below and tucked it into the pocket of her gown, making a silent promise to visit Charl’s shrine and honor the memory of her beloved husband. The moniker of widow was one she refused to admit publicly but it was something she knew she had to come to terms with; just not today.
Deep in thought, Rohese hadn’t heard Sister Anyia enter the room.
“There’s someone to see you, Rohese.”
Rohese stirred from her reverie and turned sharply when she heard a familiar voice behind her add, "I knew the sea air would help with your recovery."
Ceyrin released the blue-black haze of his glamour and greeted her with a vague smirk.
>>https://gswiki.play.net/Rohese_Bayvel-Timsh'l
Recovery
Rohese watched the coral pink of pre-dawn light illuminate the harbor below, staining the white sails of the ships moored at the dockside. A recent squall had brought them within the sanctuary of its walls for a few days but she could see that most of them were making ready to set sail again.
She usually rose early to benefit from the tranquility of the abbey cloisters. The morning prayer bell would soon toll and the hallowed halls would be filled with the hustle and bustle of daily ecclesiastical life. For now, though, she had retreated to the solitude of her chambers and the book she intended to finish that day. She stood at the window, enthralled by the tattered, blue-grey clouds scudding before the wind across the blushing sky and let her thoughts drift over the last few months.
Why have you forsaken me, Lumnis? Suddenly appalled by her own blasphemous judgement, Rohese stepped out onto the balcony and inhaled the crisp, clean air. A salt-laden breeze whipped at her hair and for a moment, the banshee’s wail resonated in her ears again. It’s just the wind. Closing her eyes, she tried to concentrate on the here-and-now and not let her grief and pain become too overwhelming.
Her walk along the beach that morning had yielded a nautilus shell, which she now gripped tightly in her hand. She murmured a brief prayer for the safety of the sailors below and tucked it into the pocket of her gown, making a silent promise to visit Charl’s shrine and honor the memory of her beloved husband. The moniker of widow was one she refused to admit publicly but it was something she knew she had to come to terms with; just not today.
Deep in thought, Rohese hadn’t heard Sister Anyia enter the room.
“There’s someone to see you, Rohese.”
Rohese stirred from her reverie and turned sharply when she heard a familiar voice behind her add, "I knew the sea air would help with your recovery."
Ceyrin released the blue-black haze of his glamour and greeted her with a vague smirk.
>>https://gswiki.play.net/Rohese_Bayvel-Timsh'l
LORDKRIP
Re: The Healing Process
02/13/2019 08:35 AM CST
Ceyrin sits, attempting to be as unobtrusive as possible on the deck of the moderate-sized cutter Shoalblazer, while the halfling crew lazily tends to the rigging as required by such a small craft. Stiff winds beat at the sails of the small vessel creating a deep 'whuffling' sound. The first rays of morning light cast an eerie glow across the sea, changing black into a sickly dark absinthe green. A pod of sea thraks breaks the surface for a few moments off the starboard side, their fins dipping in and out of the water -- a good sign, he decided. Considering the nature of his trip and the relative distance, it seemed like a poor idea to travel on such a small ship, but it turned out to be a successful combination of discreet, cheap, and quick.
>It's been nearly a year at this point since I saw her. The informant I paid a hefty sum of coins to hasn't notified me she's left, so I have to assume she is still in the care of the Graces where I insisted my brother take her. I expect by now she's made a full recovery . . . physically at least. Whatever happened to her wasn't quick, and it wasn't pleasant . . . I expect those wounds will take longer to heal, if in fact they ever do. She's fortunate to be alive . . . we're all fortunate. . .
"Port a-view, lads!", cries the captain, a fierce and robust halfling who goes by the name Emerald Eye or 'Cap'n Em' for short. "Trim the sails and get the oars ready," he barks before turning an eye toward Ceyrin.
Before the captain can even ask, Ceyrin quickly states, "Yes, give me an oar."
"There's a good lad," replies Emerald Eye, a name one can only assume he took on due to the emerald that sits in his left eye socket as a 'replacement' for a missing eye.
After a few minutes of rowing, the crew moors the craft at the modest dock on an even more modest isle. A quiet and secluded location, the main attraction of which is a small abbey dedicated to the teachings of Imaera, Phoen, Ronan, Kuon, Oleani, Aeia, Niima, and Charl -- collectively known as the Graces, for the gifts they grace the land of Elanith with.
Ceyrin slowly rises to his feet and steps off the cutter and onto the dock, glad to be rid of the mercurial stability that is a boat. "Remember, I paid you for two days, so don't leave until tomorrow evening"
"Aye", replies the captain. "Sides-which, yer not the only one wit a reason ta visit".
Ceyrin gives a final, satisfactory nod to the captain and turns to make his way up to the abbey.
Though the island itself is likely no larger than the city of Wehnimer's Landing, the bulk of the landmass is a small craggy peak atop which sits the Abbey of the Graces, supported by a tiny seaside village upon the southern shore. In times past, the abbey was used as a refuge for those who sought to escape the trappings of life on Elanith proper, and free themselves from the politics of city-states, empires, and kingdoms. Those seeking enlightenment would venture here to spend decades training themselves to let go of all things material and open their minds to the possibility of harmonious existence. Today, the Abbey is as much spa and resort as it is religious order, giving up strict adherence of faith to gain a modest amount of support income in more recent times.
Taking his time, Ceyrin ascends the elaborately carved stone stairway toward the abbey, each step adorned with a different arrangement of herbs, flowers, and other small flora that can be supported in this climate. A massive teak door pointed towards the west is painstakingly carved with religious symbology depicting the 8 Graces, punctuated with polished brass rings on either side.
Ceyrin pulls the doors open just as the Orb of Phoen begins to rise over the surface of the water in the distance.
"Welcome to the Abbey of . . .", a young male acolyte trails off as he takes in Ceyrin's appearance, such as he is able while Ceyrin is veiled by the glamour of his pendant. "How can we help you, ah. . ."
"Ceyrin, Priest of Lord Onar", he states plainly, and continues, "I'm here to see Rohese"
"We will not tolerate any sort of violence here, sir", the acolyte quickly assumes.
Ceyrin explains, "Don't worry, not only would I not come in through the front door if that was my intention, I'm the one who sent her to you nearly a year ago".
The acolyte's mouth takes on a visible 'O' shape, though no sound is made for a moment. Then, spotting a young woman who appears to be another acolyte, the young man whispers something to her and she heads off up the stairs. "Just a moment, sir"
Ceyrin ignores the young man and follows the woman up the tight spiral staircase wrought entirely of brass until they arrive at the third floor landing. Keeping pace with the young woman they quickly traverse a series of corridors lined with tapestries, flowers, and statuettes before arriving at a door upon which the young woman knocks, pauses a moment, the enters and announces, "There's someone to see you, Rohese."
Peace cannot be kept by force; it can only be achieved by understanding. - Albert Einstein
>It's been nearly a year at this point since I saw her. The informant I paid a hefty sum of coins to hasn't notified me she's left, so I have to assume she is still in the care of the Graces where I insisted my brother take her. I expect by now she's made a full recovery . . . physically at least. Whatever happened to her wasn't quick, and it wasn't pleasant . . . I expect those wounds will take longer to heal, if in fact they ever do. She's fortunate to be alive . . . we're all fortunate. . .
"Port a-view, lads!", cries the captain, a fierce and robust halfling who goes by the name Emerald Eye or 'Cap'n Em' for short. "Trim the sails and get the oars ready," he barks before turning an eye toward Ceyrin.
Before the captain can even ask, Ceyrin quickly states, "Yes, give me an oar."
"There's a good lad," replies Emerald Eye, a name one can only assume he took on due to the emerald that sits in his left eye socket as a 'replacement' for a missing eye.
After a few minutes of rowing, the crew moors the craft at the modest dock on an even more modest isle. A quiet and secluded location, the main attraction of which is a small abbey dedicated to the teachings of Imaera, Phoen, Ronan, Kuon, Oleani, Aeia, Niima, and Charl -- collectively known as the Graces, for the gifts they grace the land of Elanith with.
Ceyrin slowly rises to his feet and steps off the cutter and onto the dock, glad to be rid of the mercurial stability that is a boat. "Remember, I paid you for two days, so don't leave until tomorrow evening"
"Aye", replies the captain. "Sides-which, yer not the only one wit a reason ta visit".
Ceyrin gives a final, satisfactory nod to the captain and turns to make his way up to the abbey.
Though the island itself is likely no larger than the city of Wehnimer's Landing, the bulk of the landmass is a small craggy peak atop which sits the Abbey of the Graces, supported by a tiny seaside village upon the southern shore. In times past, the abbey was used as a refuge for those who sought to escape the trappings of life on Elanith proper, and free themselves from the politics of city-states, empires, and kingdoms. Those seeking enlightenment would venture here to spend decades training themselves to let go of all things material and open their minds to the possibility of harmonious existence. Today, the Abbey is as much spa and resort as it is religious order, giving up strict adherence of faith to gain a modest amount of support income in more recent times.
Taking his time, Ceyrin ascends the elaborately carved stone stairway toward the abbey, each step adorned with a different arrangement of herbs, flowers, and other small flora that can be supported in this climate. A massive teak door pointed towards the west is painstakingly carved with religious symbology depicting the 8 Graces, punctuated with polished brass rings on either side.
Ceyrin pulls the doors open just as the Orb of Phoen begins to rise over the surface of the water in the distance.
"Welcome to the Abbey of . . .", a young male acolyte trails off as he takes in Ceyrin's appearance, such as he is able while Ceyrin is veiled by the glamour of his pendant. "How can we help you, ah. . ."
"Ceyrin, Priest of Lord Onar", he states plainly, and continues, "I'm here to see Rohese"
"We will not tolerate any sort of violence here, sir", the acolyte quickly assumes.
Ceyrin explains, "Don't worry, not only would I not come in through the front door if that was my intention, I'm the one who sent her to you nearly a year ago".
The acolyte's mouth takes on a visible 'O' shape, though no sound is made for a moment. Then, spotting a young woman who appears to be another acolyte, the young man whispers something to her and she heads off up the stairs. "Just a moment, sir"
Ceyrin ignores the young man and follows the woman up the tight spiral staircase wrought entirely of brass until they arrive at the third floor landing. Keeping pace with the young woman they quickly traverse a series of corridors lined with tapestries, flowers, and statuettes before arriving at a door upon which the young woman knocks, pauses a moment, the enters and announces, "There's someone to see you, Rohese."
Peace cannot be kept by force; it can only be achieved by understanding. - Albert Einstein
CHIVERST
Re: The Healing Process
02/16/2019 02:20 PM CST
Cross-post with the Ta'Illistim folder
Return
Standing at the stern of the Shoalblazer, Rohese’s eyes were drawn upward, past the small cottages nestled against the cliffside, to the sound of the tolling bell and the grey-stoned abbey on the island’s craggy peak. Tears streamed down her pale cheeks as she was reminded of the love and care she had received in that sanctuary; it had become like a second home to her where the Graces had dutifully tended her wounds and proffered the spiritual guidance she had sorely needed for her recovery.
She would normally be joining the sisters for prayer now, the sonorous peal signaling the beginning of another day of reflection and, in her case, recuperation but today was different; today she was beginning her long journey home. I’m not ready!
The sound of the bell receded as a feeling of panic began to overwhelm her. Her vision faded into stygian blackness and painful memories invaded her mind ... thrall to a banshee with piercing green eyes ... excruciating pain as her silver-blue wings were ripped from her back ... gaping wounds and raw flesh ... a pool of sticky red blood ... stunned silence ... cruel laughter echoing in her ears.
The lapping sound of the blue-green waters below called her back to the present moment, each susurration soothing her and bringing with it sweeter memories from her time in the abbey gardens: the gentle breeze redolent with the scent of lavender and thyme, the melodic song of the finches and wrens, and the quiet whispers of the sisters at work in the vegetable patch.
She was suddenly conscious of Ceyrin standing a few feet away. He had not spoken a word since they had boarded the ship but she drew comfort from the fact that he always seemed to be close by.
As if in response to her awareness, the sails billowed and the cutter picked up speed, finally leaving the shelter of the harbor. Heading out to sea in a southeasterly direction, Rohese allowed the salt spray to mingle with her tears before wiping them away. Enough. No more tears. Her fingers rested on the moon-filled pendant and she slowly retreated behind a silvery grey haze. She may be well again, but she still wasn’t ready for the world to see her vulnerable state.
>>https://gswiki.play.net/Rohese_Bayvel-Timsh'l
Return
Standing at the stern of the Shoalblazer, Rohese’s eyes were drawn upward, past the small cottages nestled against the cliffside, to the sound of the tolling bell and the grey-stoned abbey on the island’s craggy peak. Tears streamed down her pale cheeks as she was reminded of the love and care she had received in that sanctuary; it had become like a second home to her where the Graces had dutifully tended her wounds and proffered the spiritual guidance she had sorely needed for her recovery.
She would normally be joining the sisters for prayer now, the sonorous peal signaling the beginning of another day of reflection and, in her case, recuperation but today was different; today she was beginning her long journey home. I’m not ready!
The sound of the bell receded as a feeling of panic began to overwhelm her. Her vision faded into stygian blackness and painful memories invaded her mind ... thrall to a banshee with piercing green eyes ... excruciating pain as her silver-blue wings were ripped from her back ... gaping wounds and raw flesh ... a pool of sticky red blood ... stunned silence ... cruel laughter echoing in her ears.
The lapping sound of the blue-green waters below called her back to the present moment, each susurration soothing her and bringing with it sweeter memories from her time in the abbey gardens: the gentle breeze redolent with the scent of lavender and thyme, the melodic song of the finches and wrens, and the quiet whispers of the sisters at work in the vegetable patch.
She was suddenly conscious of Ceyrin standing a few feet away. He had not spoken a word since they had boarded the ship but she drew comfort from the fact that he always seemed to be close by.
As if in response to her awareness, the sails billowed and the cutter picked up speed, finally leaving the shelter of the harbor. Heading out to sea in a southeasterly direction, Rohese allowed the salt spray to mingle with her tears before wiping them away. Enough. No more tears. Her fingers rested on the moon-filled pendant and she slowly retreated behind a silvery grey haze. She may be well again, but she still wasn’t ready for the world to see her vulnerable state.
>>https://gswiki.play.net/Rohese_Bayvel-Timsh'l
CHIVERST
Re: The Healing Process
02/23/2019 11:45 AM CST
Cross-post with the Ta'Illistim folder
Retreat
Love knows many colors.
Grief knows one and its shade is bleak.
Another day dawned, colorless and bleak.
The prow of the Shoalblazer cut cleanly through the indigo waters of the bay and the grey mist parted before them to reveal a familiar coastline. The bustling port of Solhaven lay sprawled out against a colorful backdrop of an evergreen forest and white limestone cliffs.
Rohese stood silently on deck, oblivious to the flurry of cheerful activity around her. Lines were hauled, sails were released, and the anchor finally dropped into the brackish green water but she paid no attention. The welcoming squark of black-headed gulls overhead added to the clamor onboard but she did nothing to acknowledge it.
With the cutter safely anchored and two small-crewed skiffs heading towards them to help with unloading the cargo, the Captain turned his attention briefly to his two mysterious passengers. He pondered the lady first; this was in fact the only chance he’d had as she had stayed below deck for the whole voyage. Shrouded in a silvery grey haze, it was hard to discern her features but it was clear by her carriage and mien that she was high-born and melancholy. Her unlikely companion was equally enigmatic, shrouded in his own blue-black glamour there was little he could determine about his background or purpose.
The skiffs bumped alongside and Cap’n Em’ shrugged off his curiosity to greet the dockworkers now boarding his ship. Throwing his head back to laugh at a shared bawdy joke, the early morning sunlight glinted off the emerald sitting in his left eye socket. Rohese was immediately startled from her catatonic state and stared in his direction … green … green eyes … piercing green eyes.
Ceyrin wasted no time and guided her to the nearest skiff. She stepped into the little boat and, with the folds of her mantle gathered around her, retreated into herself once more; ambivalent even to the golden yellow sunshine now flooding the horizon and the fiery red streaks igniting the sky.
It only took a few minutes for the skiff to reach the North ‘Haven Quay and for them to disembark. Ignoring the jostle of garishly dressed merchants, the malodorous barrels of fish, and the scavenging crabs at her feet, Rohese followed Ceyrin up the Stormdaughter's Steps and onto the Bayside Road. Even at this time of the morning, the road was busy as shoppers headed toward the bustling market in the distance or onward to the Market Bridge rising high above the Cairnfang delta.
Rohese averted her gaze in an attempt to ignore the assault on her senses; shielding her eyes from the onslaught of color and closing her ears to the cries of merchants and curses of the dockworkers.
Another day had dawned, colorless and bleak.
>>https://gswiki.play.net/Rohese_Bayvel-Timsh'l
Retreat
Love knows many colors.
Grief knows one and its shade is bleak.
Another day dawned, colorless and bleak.
The prow of the Shoalblazer cut cleanly through the indigo waters of the bay and the grey mist parted before them to reveal a familiar coastline. The bustling port of Solhaven lay sprawled out against a colorful backdrop of an evergreen forest and white limestone cliffs.
Rohese stood silently on deck, oblivious to the flurry of cheerful activity around her. Lines were hauled, sails were released, and the anchor finally dropped into the brackish green water but she paid no attention. The welcoming squark of black-headed gulls overhead added to the clamor onboard but she did nothing to acknowledge it.
With the cutter safely anchored and two small-crewed skiffs heading towards them to help with unloading the cargo, the Captain turned his attention briefly to his two mysterious passengers. He pondered the lady first; this was in fact the only chance he’d had as she had stayed below deck for the whole voyage. Shrouded in a silvery grey haze, it was hard to discern her features but it was clear by her carriage and mien that she was high-born and melancholy. Her unlikely companion was equally enigmatic, shrouded in his own blue-black glamour there was little he could determine about his background or purpose.
The skiffs bumped alongside and Cap’n Em’ shrugged off his curiosity to greet the dockworkers now boarding his ship. Throwing his head back to laugh at a shared bawdy joke, the early morning sunlight glinted off the emerald sitting in his left eye socket. Rohese was immediately startled from her catatonic state and stared in his direction … green … green eyes … piercing green eyes.
Ceyrin wasted no time and guided her to the nearest skiff. She stepped into the little boat and, with the folds of her mantle gathered around her, retreated into herself once more; ambivalent even to the golden yellow sunshine now flooding the horizon and the fiery red streaks igniting the sky.
It only took a few minutes for the skiff to reach the North ‘Haven Quay and for them to disembark. Ignoring the jostle of garishly dressed merchants, the malodorous barrels of fish, and the scavenging crabs at her feet, Rohese followed Ceyrin up the Stormdaughter's Steps and onto the Bayside Road. Even at this time of the morning, the road was busy as shoppers headed toward the bustling market in the distance or onward to the Market Bridge rising high above the Cairnfang delta.
Rohese averted her gaze in an attempt to ignore the assault on her senses; shielding her eyes from the onslaught of color and closing her ears to the cries of merchants and curses of the dockworkers.
Another day had dawned, colorless and bleak.
>>https://gswiki.play.net/Rohese_Bayvel-Timsh'l
CHIVERST
Re: The Healing Process
03/11/2019 12:19 PM CDT
Cross-post with the Mist Harbor folder.
Realization
Exactly when Rohese realized she knew her abductor was hard to pinpoint; it had been a series of recollections that finally fitted together like a puzzle.
After another night of tossing and turning, she rose from her bed before dawn, numb from lack of sleep and wondering what another day in Mist Harbor would bring. More rain, probably, and more arrests. Fractured images of her own time in captivity haunted every waking moment but slowly they were beginning to merge together into a more coherent memory. Her persistent headache was also lifting slightly, despite the stormy weather, bringing a little more clarity to her thoughts.
She should probably venture out and get some fresh air; perhaps even check on Ilsola. Poor Ilsola, I should have spoken out about her earlier maltreatment but ... Rohese sighed. At least now she was able to put on a brave face and be among people again, if not socialize properly. She had Ceyrin to thank for that. Ceyrin, who had done nothing to spare her feelings. Ceyrin who had arranged her return to the mainland. Ceyrin who had suggested she find something to do.
A loud clap of thunder outside caused her to flinch. The small scarlet leather book resting on her lap fell to the floor but she made no effort to retrieve it. Seated at the arched picture window of the drawing room, Rohese sipped her herbal tea and massaged her temple, hoping for some relief from the dull ache. Time passed as she watched people hurry by, hoods down while they carried out their daily errands.
She was reminded of her time on the Isle of Graces and how everyone around her seemed to have a purpose. She had lost her purpose when she had lost both her husband and her faith. Her eyes drifted to the paintings on the opposite wall; the misty blue watercolors of the nearby Saewehna waterways juxtaposed with images of the island’s native birds: tanagers and parrots captured in blood red and vivid green oils.
Closing her eyes, she murmured her usual prayer to Lumnis in the vain hope that she would finally hear some words of comfort or wisdom ... something ... anything to feel reassured that she was still a part of her life. It’s my fault, I know. I broke faith. A solitary tear ran down her cheek and she brushed it away in anger. You left me! Although, who she was accusing was unclear: Lumnis or Sighisoara; perhaps it was both their faults that she had suffered at the hands of ... Naamit.
There, she had openly admitted it to herself. Behind the blood red haze of pain and grief, Naamit’s green eyes bored into her very soul and her enticing voice echoed in her head with empty promises of release and freedom from sorrow. Embrace Him … never forget.
Something stirred within Rohese’s core. Was it happiness, rage, tranquility, or sorrow? Perhaps it was a mix of all four. It actually felt good to “feel” again! Tomorrow, I will write some letters but today ...
Clutching at the driftwood locket beneath her white linen shift, Rohese finally allowed herself to grieve.
OOC: Huge thank you to Ceyrin for gifting me the Emotions bloodrune for Roh's glamour pendant, it fits so perfectly with displaying Roh’s current predicament.
>>https://gswiki.play.net/Rohese_Bayvel-Timsh'l
>>https://gswiki.play.net/A_Healing_Process
Realization
Exactly when Rohese realized she knew her abductor was hard to pinpoint; it had been a series of recollections that finally fitted together like a puzzle.
After another night of tossing and turning, she rose from her bed before dawn, numb from lack of sleep and wondering what another day in Mist Harbor would bring. More rain, probably, and more arrests. Fractured images of her own time in captivity haunted every waking moment but slowly they were beginning to merge together into a more coherent memory. Her persistent headache was also lifting slightly, despite the stormy weather, bringing a little more clarity to her thoughts.
She should probably venture out and get some fresh air; perhaps even check on Ilsola. Poor Ilsola, I should have spoken out about her earlier maltreatment but ... Rohese sighed. At least now she was able to put on a brave face and be among people again, if not socialize properly. She had Ceyrin to thank for that. Ceyrin, who had done nothing to spare her feelings. Ceyrin who had arranged her return to the mainland. Ceyrin who had suggested she find something to do.
A loud clap of thunder outside caused her to flinch. The small scarlet leather book resting on her lap fell to the floor but she made no effort to retrieve it. Seated at the arched picture window of the drawing room, Rohese sipped her herbal tea and massaged her temple, hoping for some relief from the dull ache. Time passed as she watched people hurry by, hoods down while they carried out their daily errands.
She was reminded of her time on the Isle of Graces and how everyone around her seemed to have a purpose. She had lost her purpose when she had lost both her husband and her faith. Her eyes drifted to the paintings on the opposite wall; the misty blue watercolors of the nearby Saewehna waterways juxtaposed with images of the island’s native birds: tanagers and parrots captured in blood red and vivid green oils.
Closing her eyes, she murmured her usual prayer to Lumnis in the vain hope that she would finally hear some words of comfort or wisdom ... something ... anything to feel reassured that she was still a part of her life. It’s my fault, I know. I broke faith. A solitary tear ran down her cheek and she brushed it away in anger. You left me! Although, who she was accusing was unclear: Lumnis or Sighisoara; perhaps it was both their faults that she had suffered at the hands of ... Naamit.
There, she had openly admitted it to herself. Behind the blood red haze of pain and grief, Naamit’s green eyes bored into her very soul and her enticing voice echoed in her head with empty promises of release and freedom from sorrow. Embrace Him … never forget.
Something stirred within Rohese’s core. Was it happiness, rage, tranquility, or sorrow? Perhaps it was a mix of all four. It actually felt good to “feel” again! Tomorrow, I will write some letters but today ...
Clutching at the driftwood locket beneath her white linen shift, Rohese finally allowed herself to grieve.
OOC: Huge thank you to Ceyrin for gifting me the Emotions bloodrune for Roh's glamour pendant, it fits so perfectly with displaying Roh’s current predicament.
>>https://gswiki.play.net/Rohese_Bayvel-Timsh'l
>>https://gswiki.play.net/A_Healing_Process
CHIVERST
Re: The Healing Process
03/23/2019 06:39 AM CDT
Cross-post with the Mist Harbor folder.
Revelation
[All Laid Bare]
Who really understands another’s pain? No one can truly appreciate what another person is suffering. An empath can feel the sensation of transferred physical pain but only as it relates to themselves and their own thresholds. A mother ... a twin ... a lover; they can all claim to recognize a loved one’s torment but all they actually know is how it’s manifested through expressed emotions: the anger, the tears, the silence, the pretense, the denial.
Rohese was in pain.
The wounds suffered during her earlier captivity may have healed but her body still cried out in agony with each hug from a well-wisher. Her heart still ached from grief; the loss of Sighisoara had left a void that no amount of friendship or sympathy could ever fill. Her mind was in constant turmoil from the guilt and regret she felt, and her soul was bereft of any purpose.
She had made a promise to Sighisoara to give all of herself to him, yet she had been unable to give him the son and heir he wanted.
He had made a promise to love and protect her for all eternity but had left her widowed and alone; he wasn’t there when she needed him!
She had made a promise to Lumnis to devote herself to a spiritual life but had become distracted by mortal matters.
Lumnis had, in turn, made a promise to rid her of the curse that had stolen her voice through a gift of wings to support and protect her. But, whilst she could now speak, the curse still lingered and plagued her daily. The wings had brought her little relief, in fact they had become symbolic of every failing in her life.
And Naamit ... Naamit had promised to end all of her suffering.
"Embrace Him, and the pit in your heart will be filled again. Your troubles will end and the weight of your memories, the gravity of your loss shall be lifted from your shoulders in kind. Give me what I want and I will free of your burden. Words alone are not enough to silence your mind however."
Did Naamit really understand? Were her promises and actions driven by compassion or a simple desire for satisfaction and a selfish need? Rohese would never know.
She had made a more recent promise to Nehor to help him on his quest. She had succumbed to his charms and allowed him to kiss her. This is all wrong.
Nehor had promised to take care of her, to keep her from harm but here she was nursing yet another wound and a heaviness in her heart. This is all wrong!
So many broken promises. So much guilt. So much deception and sorrow.
"I am ready."
Those fateful words echoed in her mind. Was I ready? Ready for what? Did I really believe that Naamit could free me of my grief and guilt by inflicting more pain and suffering? Did I really believe that Nehor could care for me as much as he claimed?
"Never forget."
Those words haunted her. She would never forget the choices she had made. She would never forget the pain that she had suffered ... that she was still suffering. She would never forget the promises that she had broken, and most important of all, she would never forget her lost-love.
A range of emotions washed over Rohese’s face as she bound clean linen wrappings around her arm, covering the puckered, oozing wounds carved into her flesh.
Later that day ...
Idly fingering the linen wrappings around her arm, Rohese’s gaze drifted across the collection of books neatly lining the shelves of the Library bookcase. She paused to ponder a slim white volume entitled, “Grace,” and pulled it out. Odd, I don’t recall having seen this book before.
Settling herself into a nearby settee, Rohese allowed the book to fall open naturally and scanned the first paragraph.
“Through practicing love and forgiveness you can transcend all suffering and move into a space of profoundly deep joy, peace and harmony in every moment.”
She smiled to herself and murmured a quiet prayer to Lumnis under her breath.
Could she forgive?
Could she begin to rely on her own judgement again?
>>https://gswiki.play.net/Rohese_Bayvel-Timsh'l
>>https://gswiki.play.net/A_Healing_Process
Revelation
[All Laid Bare]
Who really understands another’s pain? No one can truly appreciate what another person is suffering. An empath can feel the sensation of transferred physical pain but only as it relates to themselves and their own thresholds. A mother ... a twin ... a lover; they can all claim to recognize a loved one’s torment but all they actually know is how it’s manifested through expressed emotions: the anger, the tears, the silence, the pretense, the denial.
Rohese was in pain.
The wounds suffered during her earlier captivity may have healed but her body still cried out in agony with each hug from a well-wisher. Her heart still ached from grief; the loss of Sighisoara had left a void that no amount of friendship or sympathy could ever fill. Her mind was in constant turmoil from the guilt and regret she felt, and her soul was bereft of any purpose.
She had made a promise to Sighisoara to give all of herself to him, yet she had been unable to give him the son and heir he wanted.
He had made a promise to love and protect her for all eternity but had left her widowed and alone; he wasn’t there when she needed him!
She had made a promise to Lumnis to devote herself to a spiritual life but had become distracted by mortal matters.
Lumnis had, in turn, made a promise to rid her of the curse that had stolen her voice through a gift of wings to support and protect her. But, whilst she could now speak, the curse still lingered and plagued her daily. The wings had brought her little relief, in fact they had become symbolic of every failing in her life.
And Naamit ... Naamit had promised to end all of her suffering.
"Embrace Him, and the pit in your heart will be filled again. Your troubles will end and the weight of your memories, the gravity of your loss shall be lifted from your shoulders in kind. Give me what I want and I will free of your burden. Words alone are not enough to silence your mind however."
Did Naamit really understand? Were her promises and actions driven by compassion or a simple desire for satisfaction and a selfish need? Rohese would never know.
She had made a more recent promise to Nehor to help him on his quest. She had succumbed to his charms and allowed him to kiss her. This is all wrong.
Nehor had promised to take care of her, to keep her from harm but here she was nursing yet another wound and a heaviness in her heart. This is all wrong!
So many broken promises. So much guilt. So much deception and sorrow.
"I am ready."
Those fateful words echoed in her mind. Was I ready? Ready for what? Did I really believe that Naamit could free me of my grief and guilt by inflicting more pain and suffering? Did I really believe that Nehor could care for me as much as he claimed?
"Never forget."
Those words haunted her. She would never forget the choices she had made. She would never forget the pain that she had suffered ... that she was still suffering. She would never forget the promises that she had broken, and most important of all, she would never forget her lost-love.
A range of emotions washed over Rohese’s face as she bound clean linen wrappings around her arm, covering the puckered, oozing wounds carved into her flesh.
Later that day ...
Idly fingering the linen wrappings around her arm, Rohese’s gaze drifted across the collection of books neatly lining the shelves of the Library bookcase. She paused to ponder a slim white volume entitled, “Grace,” and pulled it out. Odd, I don’t recall having seen this book before.
Settling herself into a nearby settee, Rohese allowed the book to fall open naturally and scanned the first paragraph.
“Through practicing love and forgiveness you can transcend all suffering and move into a space of profoundly deep joy, peace and harmony in every moment.”
She smiled to herself and murmured a quiet prayer to Lumnis under her breath.
Could she forgive?
Could she begin to rely on her own judgement again?
>>https://gswiki.play.net/Rohese_Bayvel-Timsh'l
>>https://gswiki.play.net/A_Healing_Process
CHIVERST
Re: The Healing Process
03/27/2019 02:01 PM CDT
Cross-post with the Mist Harbor folder.
Release
Dusk fell over Mist Harbor.
Rohese fell to her knees, her body wracked with sobs.
Midnight came and went, heralded by a particularly loud clap of thunder.
The third teacup landed just above the bookcase with a CRASH and the resultant shards of porcelain joined the remnants of the other two on the floor. Each had a name: Naamit ... Nehor ... Nazhor ...
Rohese reached for another but found a wine glass instead. She tossed the delicate glass at the wall and watched it shatter into hundreds of pieces.
The pink blush of dawn crept over the horizon.
Rohese blushed slightly as she surveyed the evidence of her emotional outburst and spotted Ceyrin standing in the doorway.
With a wry grin, he merely asked, "Glass say something unkind?"
Turning sharply on her heel, Rohese tossed another glass just above his head and replied, “Good morning."
Ceyrin didn't even flinch.
"If you're busy making a mess, I can come back."
Rohese suddenly looked appalled. "You won't tell anyone what you've just seen ... will you?"
"I'll even help you hide the glass," Ceyrin replied with a deadpan expression.
A sense of calm washed over her and she laughed. For the first time in months, she really laughed. The kind of laugh that brings joyful release and can often lead to tears, but there were no more tears left to cry.
Feeling somewhat embarrassed, Rohese attempted to apologise but decided against it. "I'm not sorry," she added, nonchalantly.
"That's good,” he replied, “sorry doesn't really help with anger, as it turns out."
Stepping carefully into the room so as not to crush the glass underfoot, Ceyrin raised an eyebrow.
Unable to find the right words to explain, she simply said, "I'm glad you stopped by actually."
"I hope it wasn't to give me a set of wine glasses."
Suppressing the urge to giggle, Rohese continued. "It was to tell you that I'm going away for a few days. I have some things to take care of."
Seeing the sceptical look in his face, she quickly added, "I'm going back to Solhaven to pack up and close Sighisoara's house."
"It's time I said goodbye."
She smiled at him, knowing he would insist on accompanying her.
The rest can wait until later.
>>https://gswiki.play.net/Rohese_Bayvel-Timsh'l
>>https://gswiki.play.net/A_Healing_Process
Release
Dusk fell over Mist Harbor.
Rohese fell to her knees, her body wracked with sobs.
Midnight came and went, heralded by a particularly loud clap of thunder.
The third teacup landed just above the bookcase with a CRASH and the resultant shards of porcelain joined the remnants of the other two on the floor. Each had a name: Naamit ... Nehor ... Nazhor ...
Rohese reached for another but found a wine glass instead. She tossed the delicate glass at the wall and watched it shatter into hundreds of pieces.
The pink blush of dawn crept over the horizon.
Rohese blushed slightly as she surveyed the evidence of her emotional outburst and spotted Ceyrin standing in the doorway.
With a wry grin, he merely asked, "Glass say something unkind?"
Turning sharply on her heel, Rohese tossed another glass just above his head and replied, “Good morning."
Ceyrin didn't even flinch.
"If you're busy making a mess, I can come back."
Rohese suddenly looked appalled. "You won't tell anyone what you've just seen ... will you?"
"I'll even help you hide the glass," Ceyrin replied with a deadpan expression.
A sense of calm washed over her and she laughed. For the first time in months, she really laughed. The kind of laugh that brings joyful release and can often lead to tears, but there were no more tears left to cry.
Feeling somewhat embarrassed, Rohese attempted to apologise but decided against it. "I'm not sorry," she added, nonchalantly.
"That's good,” he replied, “sorry doesn't really help with anger, as it turns out."
Stepping carefully into the room so as not to crush the glass underfoot, Ceyrin raised an eyebrow.
Unable to find the right words to explain, she simply said, "I'm glad you stopped by actually."
"I hope it wasn't to give me a set of wine glasses."
Suppressing the urge to giggle, Rohese continued. "It was to tell you that I'm going away for a few days. I have some things to take care of."
Seeing the sceptical look in his face, she quickly added, "I'm going back to Solhaven to pack up and close Sighisoara's house."
"It's time I said goodbye."
She smiled at him, knowing he would insist on accompanying her.
The rest can wait until later.
>>https://gswiki.play.net/Rohese_Bayvel-Timsh'l
>>https://gswiki.play.net/A_Healing_Process
